In to the Snake Pit
by PenguinsOfDoom
Summary: Slytherins. They'll all the same. Evil. Aren't they? Come in and see for yourself, as we delve into the lives of the sixth year Slytherins, as they unmask themselves, to both you and themselves.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own only my voice.**

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Welcome, stranger, to the ancient House of Slytherin. We greet you _most_ sincerely.

Stranger? Why stranger, you might say. You cannot possibly be a stranger to this House can you? You know fully well of its tricksy ways and understand how its members work.

Ah, but you see, you _are_, because what you may think you know hasn't even _touched_ the surface of its complex nature. How, in Merlin's world, can you possibly know what it's like when you haven't even had one proper conversation with a Slytherin, let alone studied one.

The Slytherin House which you see is distorted by centuries of pre-judgement, as have the other Houses of Hogwarts. With lies and half-truths they have become shallow caricatures of their former glory.

The merciful, diligent House of Hufflepuff is now seen as the 'wimps' and the 'big babies' of the school, the one whose the jokes are nearly always on.

Ravenclaw, the House of the knowledgeable, those whose sparkling wit was famous for lighting up any conversation, is now seen as overly studious to the point of dull, and are known to many as being the 'second best' out of the Houses to be in.

Noble Gryffindor seems to have come out as the best, being the house of heroes, though is also known for being the stupidest, that opinion particularly upheld by their rival house, Slytherin. Even this rivalry is born from pre-judgement, Gryffindors and Slytherins loathe each other on _principle_.

And at last, Slytherin. The House of the Snake. Oh so many, many prejudices held against them, though it wouldn't be harsh to say it was well deserved. Cruel, sneaky, back-stabbing, lying, unfriendly, _unpleasant_, malicious, arrogant, self-centred, _self-obsessed_, selfish, pureblood, inbred, snobby, Muggle-hating, cheating, no good, _evil DEATH EATERS!!_

Isn't that how you see them, how everyone, even themselves, see them?

That's because that's what they _are_ like isn't it? Hmm, maybe, maybe not, who knows? Think of it this way; is it the people who make the prejudices against themselves or the prejudices the people who they are?

What do you think?

There is no set answer. There is no right or wrong. Just as there is no good or evil, it is not so black and white.

Why do you look at me like that? Of course there's good and evil, you say, take Harry Potter and You-Know-Who, that's a perfect example of good and evil.

Is it? Is it to everyone? Isn't good and evil relative? Different for every person? To the Dark Lord does it not seem that _he_ is good and Harry Potter is evil? True, his methods and ideals are harsh and disgusting, but is it evil? What is evil but a four letter word that is used too often and carelessly.

Well, that is what a _Slytherin _would say, if they were smart. We seem to have gotten slightly off the subject; they are who we are talking about.

This House has an incredibly strange and unhealthy power structure, a power structure which you almost certainly never would get in the world outside Hogwarts, where people aren't sorted by what sort of personality they have. As well as being unhealthy, it is also very, very fragile. Imagine this, a group of people, all ambitious, all power hungry, all with a fierce desire to prove themselves, to a greater or lesser degree. Who would be on top, what method would others try to make others fall, who would deceive and betray whom? To be in this house is like being in a cutthroat business, dangerous and paranoid.

Let us study one year group of Slytherins. Ah, the new sixth years, the golden year of whom everything seems to happen to and the one you are the most familiar with.

Harry Potter's year.

Who are in it? There are only, what, _nine_ of them. Well, let us take a look at them closely.

The number one of this group is obviously Draco Malfoy, I'm sure you're familiar with his name. With a powerful father and a rich, pure heritage and not to mention his family's close link with the Dark Lord makes him the self appointed leader of this Slytherin Year. It's mainly his confidence that everyone would bend to his every whim that does it but his closeness with Harry Potter, though it may be based on mutual animosity, does help, making himself closer to another source of power. His relationship with the rest of his house is not particularly good; very, very few of them does he look to as even _near_ his equal. Because of this, he isn't close to anyone and finds talking to them difficult. This does not remarkably bode well with the others, who mainly who view him with secret scorn. His confidence, though, repels any attempts of mutiny from these people. However, this confidence has suffered a major blow ever since the arrest of his much admired father, making cracks in his arrogant exterior and feeding the inner black hole of his self deprecation.

The next in the line is probably Blaise Zabini. Good looking, haughty, rich with a beautiful mother and a new father every few years, Blaise has potential to be top if he had the Draco's confidence. It is the case, however, that his severely low self esteem holds him back. Though it is well hidden (he _is a Slytherin!_), the others can sense it, like a dog can sense fear and he is very much conscious of this. In fact, his insecurity makes him even more insecure and that in turn does the same and so on. A vicious cycle. The source of his under confidence is really quite simple.

He is a bastard child. He does not know who, or what, his father is or was. He was born, from what he could guess, from a one night stand and his mother either does not know who or just won't tell him. He finds this very difficult to deal with. Blaise also has similar issues as Draco with social interaction, not as bad as Draco I must add, but an issue none the same. He can be very pleasant and (though he would never admit it) fiercely loyal once he accepted someone but most people get intimidated by his coldness to even try to get close to him. He also harbours a great resentment towards Draco, mostly to do with jealousy, but keeps it to himself to save his skin.

Pansy Parkinson is, curiously enough, the leader of the Slytherin girls. She isn't the prettiest or the smartest (you can say _that_ again) or the most funniest or powerful or respected much by anyone but still, she is. What I am certain about is that she is a first class bitch, manipulative, self obsessed and _loud_. She is very _very_ loud. And a terrible gossip too. She has an excellent sense of storing and using information, _which you never want her to remember, _whether for blackmail or for self gain. She has an unstoppable infatuation with Draco, and agrees on everything he says. As her family used to say, little Pansy doesn't really have an original opinion in her head, and she's fine with it. My guess is that the rest of the Slytherin girls just found it easier to let her be leader, or she would have been screaming her head off till the world ends.

Next is Daphne Greengrass, now there's a girl who's Slytherin to the core. Beautiful, sociable (when she wants to be), observant, quick thinking and can lie her way out of anything. A natural actress, she can adapt to any sort of person that she thinks best for that time. She's quick to gain the trust of others and then use it to her own cunning. She could have been anything but for the moment she keeps herself on the quiet. Why? Because she is muggle-born. Not the first muggle-born to be ever put in this house, but one of a very few and, like the others, she kept it secret.

Tracey Davies is a character that is not really thought about. A tall girl, willowy, cold and hardly talks unless it was a snide comment delivered in a dead pan tone, she seems to have little interest in others. However, she has an ability to change the size of her presence, she can make it larger than life, giving her intimidating power to the max, or she can make it so small no one realises she's there. She would have been lonely if she hadn't been best friends with Daphne, who more than made up for her lack of speech. She also is the little sister of the infamous previous Ravenclaw captain, Roger Davies, and rather than admiring him and trying to prove herself to him (like many younger siblings do) she views him as something of no particular use or worth and does not like being associated with him, and vice versa. It does not need to be said that their relationship is rocky.

Theodore Nott is a strange character. He is hardly ever with the other Slytherins or with people in fact, much preferring his own company, he is like a shadow on the wall. Always playing little or no part in activities between houses, he is a loner by choice rather than circumstance. Though disliked by most, he is well respected especially by Draco. Theodore is one the only people Draco (reluctantly) sees as an equal, being the only son of the Death Eater, Avery Nott, and for being as clever as or even cleverer than Draco himself. The feeling, however, is not mutual.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. The goons of the house. These two are hardly ever seen without the other and it seems that they only live to serve Draco. Perhaps it is, they are not known for their brain power or magical ability so serving someone stronger and smarter may be their best option. Well, that's the theory behind following the dark lord, isn't? The only reason they got into this house, it seems, was their desire to prove themselves to their fathers. Well, the only reason Vincent got in anyway. Gregory may have got in by fluke.

Millicent Bulstrode generally acts like dogsbody to her 'majesty' Pansy, whom she idolises. She doesn't speak much; her thick frame says all she needs to be said. Following Pansy around like her shadow, Millicent only boosts Pansy's ego, who in turn had made her turn from the tomboyish, crazy haired loser to a Pansy clone, just not quite, with her black hair never quite as perfect and her manicured nails always retaining that nervous bitten look. She doesn't give away much but is there more to her than we think?

Well there you have it; a brief summary of each of our Slytherins, all of whom will experience some changes, some big, some small, in their coming year. So, without further ado, let us enter their lives….

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Hello! Sorry for all the readers of my other works for my long, long absence. Nevermind, I promise to give all my best to this new fic, of which you've just read the prologue to! So review?**


	2. Theodore: Irritating

There were a few things Theodore Nott liked in life.

Looking at his mother's photo was one and another was visiting her grave (which was so very, very quiet) and letting the breeze scatter the petals of the flowers he brought her and pretending that the way the wind would whisper in his ear and float against his cheek was the will of his mother.

When he looked at his mother's face in the photographs, he would sometimes have a mirror next to him as he tried to distinguish which of her features he shared; did his eyes gleam like hers, did he smile and laugh like she did? However, usually he stared back at colourless, cold eyes which were his own, and saw his father; mirrors were frequently smashed at the Nott resident. Sometimes, he did see himself in her, but only in the pictures in which she was alone and not smiling.

He liked reading. He liked to delve himself deep within a book, letting his life melt away and emerging in a new world. Reading was the closest he could get to dreaming with out being asleep. Dreams he both liked and disliked. He liked the freedom and the deepness of dreams, how everything had meaning and could be intensely analysed later. Nevertheless, he disliked the chaos within a dream as the chaos made it out of control and made him feel powerless. Theodore rarely felt that way and when he did, he didn't like it.

At school, he liked lessons where he could sit and think, where the atmosphere was calm, where it was _quiet_. It was lessons which had most to do with knowledge, with books and research which he enjoyed the most, like Arithmancy or Ancient Runes. If Potions hadn't been the battlefield of the fierce, _troublesome_ feud between the Slytherins and the Gryffindors, then Theodore would have undoubtedly enjoyed that too, enjoyed staring at the bubbling liquid in his cauldron change colour as he stirred it slowly and having that satisfied feeling of knowing how much power it contained. He would have probably respected Snape too, if the greasy teacher didn't annoyingly feed the fuel of complete and utter immaturity the Slytherins acted towards the Lion House and if Snape himself kept his outright ridiculous grudge against Harry Potter where it belonged. Out of Theodore's lesson.

It was _contained _magic, Theodore liked, controllable magic, magic he knew exactly how much power it had. This was why he didn't like Transfiguration or Defence, they were too loud, too blunt, too 'in your face'. And the people in it were goddamn irritating.

When lessons ended and the library and the common room were too crowded (and sometimes, just when he felt like it) Theodore would wander around the edge of the Forbidden Forest, occasionally taking a stroll inside. The trees calmed him, the way the sunlight (when there was any) trickled past through the leaves, creating a green haze under the branches, soothed his soul. The many different sounds and smells a forest makes made him feel at ease, something he rarely felt indoors. Theodore spent a lot of his time in the company of the forest creatures, both magical and non, that he had become familiar with them, almost friendly, even with the centaurs (who refused to believe he was a full-blooded human, for their sake or his?). He liked spending time with the Thestrals the best, stroking their bat-like wings and watching their black reptilian scales gleam like tar. He found their company pleasant, which was more that could be said for human beings.

Theodore found human beings irritating, in fact he found most things irritating but humans especially pissed him off. The way thy talked and shout and overreact and betray and create problems and just act STUPID. God, they irritated him to no end.

His father irritated him the most. A small quiet man, a serious face, a low graveling voice preaching on and on about things Theodore didn't give two shits about. Stuff about duty, loyalties to his family, to 'The Cause.' It makes Theodore almost smile when he remembers the time when he snidely remarked to his father that he didn't know his family included the Dark Lord. Yes, it almost makes him smile, even though he got a stinging slap and disappointed eyes for it.

His father irritated him for many reasons, more than he could count. It was because he went around being a dogsbody for a set of idiots and their even more idiotic manic leader, giving himself the name, the label they handed out because he was too weak to make one for himself. Because of the almost sheer devoted blindness in which his father followed the values he was taught by his parents and the constant belief in his rightness that made the Slytherin core of Theodore writhe in disgust. It was the way he had that face on all the time, the face of the world weary widower, the drained father, with all the superficial experiences, which were supposed to end up as wisdom, etched on to his face. As if _he_ was in the right behind the Dark Lord, the epitome of all that he believes, and that _Theodore_ was in the wrong as the estranged son, as the traitor, the black sheep, who would have made his mother cry if she was still here.

Which. He. Would. NOT. HAVE!

More importantly, it was the fact that Avery Nott had not once visited his wife's grave since the funeral more than 15 years ago and something, just something, which Theodore felt within his father that just _irritated_ him. Luckily he never had to see his father more than a week each year.

The same could be said to his school, whom almost all irritated him as much. To the train and the crowds and to that stupid trolley woman in the train, to the teachers and the students; they all were irritating to a greater or lesser degree. Dumbledore, with that all knowing twinkle and that all knowing voice and his general all knowingness oozing out of those outrageously coloured robes, not only irritated Theodore but bothered his eyes as well. Hagrid with his oafish voice, Flitwick for his never ending squeaky highness, McGonagall for her too tight bun and her righteousness and so on. Teachers always tended to irritate him, but never as much as the students.

Students were noisy. Students were immature. Students blocked the corridors and were too self absorbed and overreacts at the slightest thing.

The Gryffindors were the embodiment of overreacting. Theodore, as a Slytherin, loathed Gryffindors on principle. Well, loathed is really too strong a word for Theodore. Gryffindors _irritated_ him. Not only as people (because they _were_ very irritating as people) but for all of what their House stood for. Nobility, bravery, courage. For heroism, that Theodore just could not stand. They were brash, they were stupidly loud and they all acted as if they were dancing on the moral high ground with shining sticks of justice up their arses. And the heroes on this house of heroes were of course the Trio.

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Theodore didn't hate them or anything and he never had much to do with them. He did find them quite interesting but not interesting enough for a deep analysis. He found that they fell boringly neatly into their stereotypical roles of a trio of heroes. Granger, as the girl, is the most morally aware of the three and as the smart one, she usually makes the plans and gets them out of trouble. Weasley as the stupid laid back one, is the comic relief. Potter, well, Potter is simple, he is the main character, the reluctant hero, the orphan out to avenge his parents. Really, quite boring in Theodore's view, irritatingly boring.

Not as irritating as his own House though, they were sometimes beyond irritating, especially his year mates. It irritated him that they were just like his father in their devoted blindness to their parents, which made up most of their personality, especially Malfoy.

He was the most irritating of the lot, mostly to do with the fact that he was the type of son that Theodore should have become, in his father's eyes. It irritated him that Malfoy had that same constant belief on his own superiority his father has, and the same belief in the values he was taught. It irritated him that Malfoy was a snotty little daddy's boy, rich and spoiled and that he either failed to realise that he was slowly self destructing or he chose to ignore it.

It irritated and strangely amused him that Pansy, stupid as she is, can't grasp that 'no darling he isn't looking at you or listening to you, as he's forever looking at Potter,' means exactly that. Daphne was quite funny sometimes, in an irritatingly girly way. Draco himself doesn't seem to be conscious of how many times his eyes wander to Potter, and that the Boy-Who-Lived's name comes out so many times from his mouth it almost sound like his mantra. Theodore didn't know whether to find this irritating or comical.

Zabini irritated him. The haughty boy's low self-esteem and the failure to comprehend that no one but himself cares if he's a bastard child irritated him. Millicent's copycat habits irritated him, but not as much as her choice in choosing Pansy, _of all people_, to idolise. It irritated him that not one of the other Slytherin understood how much muggleness was here within them. It irritated him that Crabbe acts stupider than he really is and that Goyle really shouldn't be in Slytherin., no, really shouldn't be a _wizard_. For crying out loud, he'd probably have a better career choice as a muggle. Daphne irritated him because she was too easy read and Tracey for the exact opposite.

His whole House irritated him.

The sound of student rushing to their lessons, on discovering there were only five minutes to go to get to the other side of the castle, irritated him as he ambled leisurely to the greenhouses for his first lesson on Herbology of the year. Professor Sprout was irritatingly late as usual, making him and the rest of the N.E.W.T s Herbology class wait outside. Theodore glanced lazily at them, noting that the majority were Hufflepuffs and there was only one Slytherin. Himself. He closed his eyes as he leaned against the cold glass of the greenhouses. Hufflepuffs annoyed him but this was better than Muggle Studies, which Tracey mysteriously also chose, at least he was alone here and no-one would dare talk to a Slyther-.

"Um…e-excuse m-me..?"

Theodore languidly opened one eye, irritatingly surprised as a trembling hand tentatively tapped his shoulder. Light brown floppy hair, round brown eyes, quite tall but with guarded hunched shoulders. Seems to have an unfortunate stutter. A red tie. Gryffindor.

"Um...y-you wwouldn't h-happen to be, um, um, T-t-theodore No-,"

"Yes."

"Oh," relief and horror seemed to simultaneously flood into… into who-ever-this-person-was-who-can't-seem-to-come-to-mind's eyes, "W-well, we're p-partners for this y-year…I think…a-according to the register Prof. Sprout gave to me to look after."

"…"

"S-so, I thought I should come and s-say hi or something, seeing as…yeah. Um, by the way, I'm- ."

"-Neville Longbottom. Gryffindor. Member of the DA. Blows up cauldrons among other things. Can see Thestrals."

Neville's round eyes went even rounder, like saucers. Theodore twitched into a strange smirk. He was amusing, this Neville, quite unlike a normal nauseous Gryffindor; his eyes were different. He stuttered in fear but had enough guts to approach him, the Slytherin who should have automatically become the enemy and (if Theodore could remember correctly) the bully. Quite interesting.

"Er…y-yeah…um…how-?"

"- did I know? Guesswork."

"Oh…I see. Well, nice to m-meet you…I think…"

Theodore burst out laughing…well he _would_ have if he wasn't Theodore. Instead, he did his equivalent; letting a long breath out of his nose.

Neville Longbottom may prove to be not _as_ irritating as he thought he might be.

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HEY! Sorry this took ages. I'm not dead. Exams, coursework and stuff…yeah. Theodore's story will continue, as his relationship with Neville…just not in the next chap. BTW, all opinions on the characters are ALL Theodore's NOT mine..so don't kill me please… SO R&R please! Thanks, love you all.**


	3. Daphne & Tracey:Best of Friends?

**Hello! Thanks for the reviews for the prologue. I just wanted to specify to those who asked and will ask me about Daphne being a muggle born because 'isn't she pureblood?' that I don't know if she is or not, I made that bit up seeing as there's so little information about her and I wanted to give her character a little more depth. All I know is that the books never specifies that she is a pure blood, I think they only mention her name once, or something in the whole series! The only places where I am told that she is a pure blood is in fanfics so…****for mine I decided to make her a muggle born because being a Slytherin and muggle born is a great storyline!**

Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davies had been best friends for a very long time. Tracey, herself wouldn't really use the term 'best friends'….more long time allies, while Daphne (who wouldn't use 'best friends' either) would use allies too, just with 'united against the tyranny of airheads and bimbos and superficial sheep who run this organisation of life' attached to it.

Tracey, if she ever heard that, would either sniff (her way of laughing) or leave the room, depending on her mood.

They first met on the Slytherin Table in their first Welcoming feast, both staying very quiet for most of the evening, Daphne, because she realised quickly enough that coming from a muggle background was bad news in Slytherin and had enough sense to keep her trap shut until she knew more about the wizarding world to fit in. Trailing around Pansy was a good idea, seeing that girl never stopped talking. Tracey on the other hand, just didn't like anyone enough to speak to them.

They first spoke to each other two weeks later. Strangely enough, it was the antisocial Tracey who initiated the conversation. She had been studying Daphne ever since the feast, and found to her surprise that she couldn't figure her out _at all_. Everyone else in Slytherin, Tracey had them figured them out within the first hour, Draco was a snobbish brat, Blaise was a haughty bastard, Pansy was an airheaded idiot and so on. Daphne however just kept on _changing_. One moment she was just one of Pansy's gossipy stupid minions, chatting about boys and hair and make up, and the next she was in the library, alone, surrounded by a wall of heavy books, looking for all the world like the prettied up version of Hermione Granger. Daphne Greengrass was just not understandable.

So Tracey decided to put a bit more effort in.

"Daphne Greengrass"

Daphne's eyes barely flickered towards her before they returned to the heavy book she was reading. Tracey narrowed her eyes in annoyance. Perhaps Daphne had not _understood_ that she was being spoken to.

"Greengrass, I am speaking to you."

Not even a flicker this time, not one slightest hint of acknowledgement. Tracey raised her eyebrows.

That _cow_ was _ignoring_ her!

Slamming her hand down hard onto the book, so hard it fell from Daphne's grasp, she increased her 'presence' gauge to its maximum. _No one_ ignored her unless she wanted them to (which was most of the time).

This time Daphne did reply, though she replied in such a way which was smug and annoyingly righteous that infuriated Tracey even more.

"Yes, Daphne Greengrass is my name," Daphne drawled, "Can I help you? No? Then kindly release my book."

"Actually," Tracey shot back icily, her face still, as dead as stone, "I have some business I have to deal with you."

"Oh? And that is?"

"Who are you?"

Tracey was always the sort of person who got straight to the point. She didn't like talking much and beating about the bush wasted her precious time. Daphne, it seemed, was the exact opposite.

"Who?" she asked in a sickening innocent voice which was more like dripping honey than any sound Tracey had ever heard, "Me? I'm just one of your classmates, you know, in Slytherin? We share lessons and dorms and stuff, I think, don't we?"

"Yes we do," Tracey said lowly, clenching the book beneath her hand, "but you know that's not what I mean."

"I do?"

"Yes. You do. I know-,"

Tracey stopped dead as her eyes skimmed over the words '_From There to Now; The Recent History of the Wizarding World' _which lay embossed on the leather cover under her fingertips. Then everything clicked.

"You're parents," she murmured, slowly raising her eyes up to meet Daphne's again, "what do they do? Because," she added sharply before the other girl could tell her to mind her own business, "People like us have to keep ourselves informed on each other's matters, especially where we are in society, don't we?"

Daphne closed her mouth. Tracey wondered vaguely whether Daphne was going to fall into her trap and confirm her suspicion or whether she was going to tell her to bugger off, the Davis family wasn't anywhere high enough to be sprouting words like _that_. Tracey waited.

"Well…," Daphne faltered, before finding her voice again, "My parents work outside Britain, they own a chain of restaurants in Italy. Quite well-known actually, if only to the locals."

"I see, that's nice," Tracey said absently, fingering the thick pages of the book and seeing Daphne look of relief from the corner of her eye, "Quite impressive, Greengrass, for a lie made up in two seconds, hardly any flaws, it would have convinced a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor, though we know that's not saying much."

"What?" Daphne smiled confusedly, though her smile was a little too strained and her voice a little too loud, "What are you saying?"

Tracey smiled back evilly. It was a smile which said 'I got you.'

"It was very good, Greengrass, I'm admitting that. Too good maybe, for the likes of a little Davis, such as myself. Very different from what I thought you would have said. Probably because it was the truth. Your parents do own a chain of restaurants, don't they? You just failed to mention that they're _muggles_."

Daphne went pale. Her eyes eyed her wand and then the door. Fight or flee. Tracey wasn't going to let her do either.

"If you want to keep undercover, you're going to have to do better than that," Tracey commented airily, flicking through some other book, "Keep the Italy bit, that'll explain why no-one's heard of your family. The restaurants thingy is a bit iffy, so I'll change that to Ministry work if I was you. For books I re-."

"Wait!" cried Daphne, shocked, "Why are you helping me? Aren't you going to turn me in? I thought Slytherins hated mudbloods!"

"Don't use 'mudblood' it's rude. Use it only around Malfoy and them lot."

"But, but.."

Tracey slammed the book shut. "I'm bored with this conversation. Come on, we're going to get something to eat."

And off she went and Daphne had no other choice but to follow her till this day…

….which is around five years later, in the Slytherin sixth year dormitory. It was raining, a usual occurrence in October, not that you could tell down in the dungeons. On the lavish emerald green bed, Daphne lounged on her belly, flicking through some magazine while commenting on almost every model that graced the pages to Tracey, who sat on another bed.

"God, wizard fashion is sooo boring. I mean, robes and cloaks _everywhere_. No variation whatsoever!"

Tracey raised her eyebrows but didn't comment. Daphne, it seemed, had come back from the summer holidays fresh with muggle ideals…about fashion mostly and the lack of electrical items such as the computer. This happened after every summer, Daphne would complain about almost everyone and everything for the first month, especially about the wizarding world. Of course, not to the public (unless it was about the food or the draft) but the amount she moaned to Tracey it might as well be.

"Stupid really. I mean, if magical folk are supposed be sooo much better than muggles then why don't they an inkling of a good sense of the evolution of clothes. The stuff you guys wear are, like, _centuries_ old. _And_ the fastest way of communicating is sticking your head in the fire. Ridiculous! Invent some sort of magic mobile phone will you! Swallow your pride and LET US USE THE INTERNET!!!!"

(Here, it would be beneficial to point out that Daphne is speaking to no one in particular and that she rants about the uselessness of muggles in the first month home too.)

"Another holiday romance lost because of no access to the internet?" Tracey asked dryly, "or a phone?"

"…yes. And it's not fair! I could've had him buy me that cute dress if I had two more days! But noooo. I can't even get him to send it to my house now!"

"I bet his name was Leo or something like that."

"Yep. Leon actually," Daphne smirked slyly, "he had a cute baby face. Head as empty as the sky though, I could have sworn I heard birdsong coming out of his ears."

Tracey sniffed as she rolled onto her stomach, mirroring Daphne's position, rolling her eyes as the other girl started to recount the long and overdramatic tale of her summer holidays.

Tracey curled her lip in distain. "God, I hope you didn't do anything unseemly."

"Oh, don't be such a prude, Trace!" sniggered Daphne, "and no, we didn't have _sex_, Miss Touch-me-and-DIE, though he did give a surprisingly good-mmph!" she spluttered as a pillow caught her square on the face, "Bitch! What?"

Frowning with annoyance, Tracey pointed a long finger at the door from which Pansy suddenly just came through, her pug-like face peeved.

"Have you two seen Draco?" she demanded angrily, her dark eyes flashing to one girl to the other.

Tracey raised her lidded eyes lazily to meet Pansy's, her blank face having a hint of killer intent. "No."

"No, sorry Pans," replied Daphne in a much friendlier (if faker) tone than her friend, "We've been down here for most of the evening. Why?"

Looking more than slightly offended, Pansy huffed haughtily, "_Well, _that's what people who are going out _do_. Be with each other. Not that you'll know."

"Oooh, ouch," Daphne sneered sarcastically, "that would have had more effect if I hadn't had a boyfriend in the last six months, which, wait let me see, I have."

"You and Draco are going out?" asked Tracey to the infuriated Pansy, genuinely looking surprised. Pansy stared at her, shocked as Tracey usually never said anything more than a couple of words to her, until she regained her smugness.

"Yes we are, for a long time now. What? Didn't you know?"

Tracey shook her head and remarked, "No, I didn't think you two were like _that_."

"Quite unobservant, aren't you?" Pansy giggled shrilly. Tracey shrugged.

"I've always thought he was just using you."

The door slammed as Pansy stomped out the dorm.

…

"Well, now you've done it."

"Done what?" enquired Tracey boredly. Sitting up and stretching her arms, Daphne gave her a pointed look.

"You know what she's like. She'll probably find Draco, whine to him and he'll be pissed off and shout at Pansy and everything will end in tears…for her."

The shorter girl sighed wearily.

"And you know that'll mean _no _sleep for us because it's impossible for Pansy to sob. She has to _wail_… all night."

Tracey yawned discreetly. "Pansy's an idiot and Draco's an arsehole. They deserve each other wholly and unconditionally."

"I disagree," claimed Daphne, "I mean I agree with you in this situation but its the principle of a guy using a girl I just can't stand."

Raising her eyebrows, Tracey pointed out that didn't Daphne _herself_ use the other sex far more than once.

"Yeah, but that's different. Oh call me a hypocrite if you want but I personally think that a girl using a guy is different to a guy using a girl," Daphne shrugged absently, "I think I might think of some punishments for Draco."

"You do that," said Tracey as she pulled out a hefty looking book from her trunk, along with scrolls upon scrolls of notes, "while I shall refresh my memory on Astronomy."

Abruptly, Daphne scrabbled to sit up, her eyes widened in shock.

"We have Astronomy tomorrow? When?"

"At midnight as usual," sniffed Tracey irritably, "And its tonight."

Daphne swore angrily making the other girl tut before mentioning offhandly,

"And its _you_ Daphne, who has Astronomy tomorrow, not me."

There was a pause where Daphne gave her an incredulous look before staring at her numerous notes.

"Then why are you looking through those?!"

Smirking callously, Tracey stated, "Because I like knowing the fact that you're going to have to come to me for help."

….

"Bitch."

"Why thank you."


	4. Theodore: Theres something about Neville

Neville twitched involuntarily as he felt dark eyes drill into the side of his face. Inconspicuously, or at least as inconspicuously as he could, he glanced sideways and almost had a heart attack when he found his gaze caught in the inescapable orbs of Theodore Nott.

"Can y-you stop t-that?" stammered Neville, frowning, or again at least trying to as every stammer caused a tremor to appear in his already very frightened face.

"Stop what?" came the low, monotonous reply.

The Gryffindor's bunched eyebrows quivered. "Trying t-to in-in-intimidate me because it's not w-working!"

A lie, a complete utter lie.

As soon as he said that out, Neville gulped nervously, expecting something…evilly scary coming his way. All Slytherins were scary, but this one seemed to be in a different league of scariness altogether…

"…."

"Please stop that."

"……."

"Please."

"…………"

"_Please!"_

"…the plant's getting away."

As quick as lightening, Neville spun and grabbed hold of the miniature sunflower on legs which was making a break for freedom out the window. Careful as to not to get kicked, he placed it delicately back in to its caged pot, sighing in relief as he did so.

Once safely in, Neville turned to glare crossly at the Slytherin, who was inattentively gazing out at the clouds. Exasperated, Neville buried his round face in his arms in frustration.

Theodore turned his gaze upon him with interest. He was strange, this Neville Longbottom. His appearance was unremarkable, he had no particular charm or wit nor was there any exceptional ability in him. In short, Longbottom was nothing special.

However, there was _something_ about him which Theodore could not put a finger on, which made him so, so….different.

_Why?_

Theodore tried to dig up any other information he had on the boy, skimming through the great filing system of his brain.

Last year, with the Thestrals, in Hagrid's class, Longbottom could see them as could Potter. It was cold and he could remember seeing their flying, lurking forms and he had pulled a face of great distaste. This was a rare occurrence (seeing as he usually had no expression on his face) but at that time he was extremely enraged. How dare he?! How _dare_ that oaf bring out _Theodore's_ Thestrals to be mocked and squealed at by these bunch of idiots, these morons who even if they were able to see them would _never_ be able to appreciate their beauty! For Theodore an expression of great distaste was equivalent to shaking with fury.

However, that lesson went better than expected; Theodore gained a lot of respect for the gamekeeper-turned-teacher, who, despite his clumsy manner and monstrous appearance, had a similar sort of relationship with the creatures of the forest as he did. Ironically, Dolores Umbridge completely ruined Hagrid straight after, but it wasn't as if Theodore _liked _him

But still, nothing on Longbottom, who was now tending the plant with something akin to affection in his brown eyes, unaware of being watched.

Last year, about November, in that room that changes, Longbottom was there with a crowd of others. The first meeting of that infamous DA. Theodore had, in an attempt to find peace away from his noisy housemates, stumbled across a room full of squashy armchairs that he had never seen before. Undaunted by its sudden appearance, he took it all in his stride and promptly settled himself down to doze off. It was to his great irritation that no sooner than his eyes were about to close that they came, in threes, fours twos, after one another. If Theodore had been anyone other than himself, he would have held his breath in anticipation and awe on the fact he was gazing uninvited on the very first meeting of that _legendary_ DA. But as Theodore was himself, all he did was sink lower into his armchair so as not to be seen and observed with half-closed eyes, uninterested and annoyed.

Potter had made an irritatingly boring and predictable speech for a bit, clearly not too happy about his forced status as a leader. Theodore actually fell asleep. When he awoke, everyone seemed mightily satisfied and proud of themselves, as if, yeah they're _really_ going to become any use whatsoever to the war which was quietly looming because that Harry Potter was going to teach them. They had no idea what would be waiting for them when the war started or what their enemy was capable of.

Potter knew. Theodore could see it in his eyes, eyes that always looked to him that they would burst into tears. Longbottom knew as well. Theodore had spotted the worry, the pain that threatened to unravel in Longbottom's face. The only difference with Potter's pain and Longbottom's pain was that no-one would care about Longbottom's. No-one would grieve if Longbottom's pain broke him, broke his mind, his heart, his soul.

And Longbottom knew this as well.

"Hey…N-nott?" Longbottom looked as though he was going to wave his hands in front of Theodore's face, but drew back having enough wisdom that that was a _bad idea_.

"…?" Theodore's look was questioning.

"We n-need to spray the plants now with growth potion, so-"

Theodore took the spray from his hands and leisurely began to squirt the foul smelling liquid on the frenzied sunflowers, which consequently excited them even more.

"- can you go get your spray from the front…or not…I'll g-go get a new one then…"

Theodore watched his partner angrily walk to the front again. He had never seen Longbottom angry before. When it was partner time in that DA meeting, Theodore's mind drifted again, Longbottom was alone. He was usually alone, wasn't he? During lessons, during breaks and lunches, and weekends? There was just something about Longbottom which made others move away from him, something awfully tragic. No-one could pinpoint what exactly this _thing_ was, but they felt it and they feared it and they hated it. It was _bad_, whatever this thing was and anybody, everybody was repulsed by it.

Except for Theodore.

This must have been what fascinated him about Longbottom. This thing of Longbottom, it was…interesting. It was distinctly _un_irritating.

Like the sorrow that surrounded his mother's grave…

"Neville Longbottom."

Neville glanced nervously, angrily at him. "Yes? Has your spray run out?"

No stutters this time. Theodore smiled, the corners of his lips slowly, almost painfully slowly, rose strangely like he wasn't aware of this particular bit of disobedience from his body.

Neville's hairs stood on end. Theodore smiling was _beyond_ frightening.

"You like Thestrals?" the Slytherin asked suddenly.

"Huh?" Neville frowned, "Yeah, sort of. I mean, they don't scare me at all, weirdly enough. They're very friendly creatures, I feel bad that people are scared of them and all."

Neville then unexpectedly smiled a secret, shy smile. "But if that stops people from bothering them, it's good I think."

"After this lesson, we'll go visit them."

"What?!" Neville spluttered, confusion and fear and a gleam, just a gleam, of hope shining in his round face. "We?"

"Yes."

"You want to hang out with _me?_ To do what? Curse me?"

Theodore's eyes flashed dangerously. "I want to visit the Thestrals."

"What if I don't?"

"You do." His conviction was so strong not even a fully grown Blast-ended Skewt could have torn it down.

"I…" Uncertainty. Suspicion. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope.

The lesson ended. Theodore packed up his things and left the greenhouse. The September sun shone brightly, almost desperately, clinging urgently to the dying summer. He strolled unhurriedly down the corridor, his steps synchronising with rushed beat of the rest of the school, creating jazz. Foot jazz.

And at his side, Neville walked the melody.


	5. Draco: The Mission

Draco Had a Mission

Draco Had A Mission. A bloody important Mission, commissioned by the great Dark Lord Himself, of taking out Dumbledore and leading a battalion of his _fellow_ Death Eaters into this god-awful school thus finally proving to his father, to Potter, to his teachers, to his house-mates, to _everyone _that he was more than just talk.

Because he was.

He really was.

And once he had done it, everyone would finally see what a genius he was, because the plan _was_ a particularly ingenious stroke of genius, if he does say so himself. Even his _father_ couldn't have thought of it, who, now that we're on the subject of him, Draco would rescue right after he got rid of Dumbledore and raided the school. He would fly as fast as light on Potter's Firebolt (which he would have stolen in the process) to Azkaban. Draco could see himself walking through the corridors, Dementors skulking out of his path until he got to his father's cell. Breaking open the lock, there would be his father, standing distinguished in the moonlight, with not a hair out of place, smirking, no, smiling proudly. Father would put a hand on his shoulder and Mother's eyes would be shining with unshed tears of joy and pride and love and…

…she would be happy. Like she hasn't been happy in absolutely ages. Because Dad was in Azkaban. Because of Potter.

Draco hated Harry Potter more than he'd ever hated anybody in his life.

He often indulged in fantasies like that. Where his family were all together again, where his father would be proud of him, where he excelled at everything, anything he did. However, the fantasies he had most were the ones where he would hurt Potter, mock, beat, curse, hex, jinx, and_ humiliate_ him. Destroy him.

One of Draco's favourite fantasies involving Potter was where Draco could cast the Imperious Curse on him and make him do all these ridiculous things like dancing like a chicken or putting on drag or something. And say stupid things, like telling all his annoying Gryffindor friends that he hates them and calling Draco 'master'. That would be amazing. But the best thing would be that it would only be Draco who could imperio Potter, anyone else's would just be thrown off like normal. Only Draco would have the power to control Potter.

It gave him tingles just thinking about it.

In reality though, Potter was really starting to get in the way. Like on the train, when Potter snuck into his compartment. Draco was already annoyed by that time because of stupid Slughorn and his stupid 'Slug Club' (why in _hell_ could Longbottom and Girl Weasley get in?? Slughorn probably wants to get into her pants, the pervert.) and Zabini's _attitude!_ That little prick seemed to have felt like he had one over Draco just because Zabini had a whore and a gold digger of a mother who Slughorn thought was famous enough for Zabini to join. God, what a jerk. Obviously, after that Draco _had_ to put him in his place, no matter if Potter was there. No, Especially, _because _Potter was there.

_Why was that?_

Well…well, obviously it was because Draco couldn't let Potter see any sort of chink in his armour, especially since the war had started and his role was getting increasingly bigger in it. And there was no way on this _planet_ that Draco was going to let Potter see any weakness of _any _form.

In hindsight though, talking about his Mission was a big mistake. Even talking to his housemates about it probably wasn't wise, but at least now they'll get out of his face when he was busy and Crabbe and Goyle would help when necessary. Not that they wouldn't have in the first place. But letting _Potter_, one of the biggest figures in the enemy, know was probably one of the stupidest things Draco could have possibly done. Potter now had all his attention onto Draco, trying to monitor every little action, word, of Draco's, every flicker of his eyelashes even. Potter followed him, stalked him, does anything to know what Draco was up to.

Draco should be scared.

He wasn't.

He was loving every fucking minute of it.


	6. Gregory: Secret

While Draco had a mission, Gregory had a secret. A terribly big and terribly terrible yet wonderful secret. It was a secret he even had to hide from Vincent, Vinnie, his best friend, his brother from another mother, who he shared almost everything from clothes to cake crumbs since they were babies. It was a secret so very secret, he dared not even say it to himself.

It took the form of a tatty old magazine, which he hid in his underwear drawer, underwear being one of the only other thing he didn't share with Vincent. And no one else would go there, because if they did, that would mean that the bloke would be a gay, which meant that Gregory had something on _them_.

Simple yet genius. That was his favourite phrase to say, because he liked the fact that something _could_ be simple yet genius. Like him, maybe, one day.

Vincent's favourite thing to say was 'They think we're stupid, but we're not the ones lying in the mud like an arse.' Which was really cool, but it was kind of too long to say it a lot. Gregory could say _his_ a lot and he did. It really pissed Draco off each time he said it, though Gregory wasn't too sure why. But then Draco was always kind of pissy, especially since this summer cause of his dad and his mission and all.

Gregory dreaded to imagine what would happen if Draco ever found out his secret. That was his worst fear. Would Draco denounce him as a blood traitor? A mud-eating muggle lover?! Would Draco's eyes widen in horror and disgust as it took in images of the muscles and the sweat and the costumes? Or would he just laugh at Gregory, and laugh at the men Gregory had begun to look upon as idols?

He didn't know which was worse.

Gregory knew he was stupid. Really stupid, far stupider than Vincent ever was. He knew that he was never going to be any good at any of the lessons, whether it was magic or knowledge. He tried to get better, he really did, but once you _know_ that you are going to be bad, all the efforts seem useless. What was the point? What was the point of doing anything when you know your going to be the worst at it? The only thing he was ever any good at was fighting. No one had ever beaten him in a one on one non-magical fight, not even Vincent. He loved it, every single part of it. He always had the utmost confidence in his strength and size, ever since he was a kid, a baby even, maybe even since he was in his mum's stomach. Fighting was his joy in life and the feeling of beating someone, standing tall above them while they cowered on the floor, was the best feeling he knew.

But what did physical strength matter in a world of magic? What was going to happen when school ended and he was going to have find a job? What was he going to do? He was going to end up like his dad, trapped in a job he hated, become the butt of everyone's jokes, jokes he wouldn't even get because he was too dumb. He was too dumb to even be allowed to dream.

That magazine changed all that. He found it after scaring some second years Hufflepuffs last year in the library, and they had left it one the table. At first, he didn't even notice it but two page spread of a giant muscled monster of a man with dark hair headlocking an equally muscled blond could not fail to grab his attention. He was mesmerised. All the fighting, all the strength in those pictures, they were something like from a dream. After taking it back with him, he lay on his bed at night, eyes glued to each and every page, mouthing every printed word. Muggles do this as a _job?_ Muggles _pay_ to watch it? Though the pictures did not move, Gregory had never been so transfixed with something his entire life.

Gregory had dreams now. He dreamed of being a wrestler. He fantasized about winning competitions, with gold medals and beautiful, big-breasted blondes willing to do anything for their champion. Potter could have the Triwizard Cup, all Gregory could ever want, pride, succession, fame, lay on the path of the wrestling career. He would Greg the Grinder, the Smasher of Teeth, the Breaker of Bones and no one will dare make fun of him. People would pay to watch him beat the shit out of someone, to see blood and pain. He could even become someone's idol, a boy like him, and be a person who can gives people dreams!

Oh, if only he was born a muggle.


End file.
